Chapter Text
In the Rogarin Province, just at the base of the Ikthal mountains was the estate of Enabran Tain. It was a sprawling manor, harkening to the days when Guls kept tracts of land that supported dozens of families. Tain was no Gul, but his way of life did necessitate the employment of a dozen or so people.
In residence, besides Mister Tain, was a housekeeper, Miss Mila, and the cook, Miss Temi. There was a Mister Reqot who served as Mister Tain’s valet and pilot.
The house boasted three wings, one for the Tain and his close circle of friends, one for guests, and a third for the household servants.
The grounds and gardens, which were extensive in their own right, were maintained by Mister Richard Bashir. Mister Tain imported Mister Bashir, and his collection of rare orchids, all the way from Earth. Incidentally, Mister Bashir came with one child, Julian.
Julian and Mister Bashir lived on the estate, on the edge of the southern garden, in the hetusa, or small servants' quarters. It was a lonely existence for Julian. He was the only youth for kilometers and the village children were not interested in socializing with a human youth, especially one as odd as Julian. He didn’t mind much as the grounds were so large he rarely was in the way and his father ensured he was busy with his studies every day. Julian spent most of his time with a book in a corner of the gardens while his father worked.
The Tain estate, when necessary, hosted several long and lavish parties. Judging by the frequency it was necessary at least nine times every sun cycle. Guls and glinns, secretaries and diplomats all were hosted in luxury right below Mister Bashir’s window. His son would spend his evening watching those parties, at first through the window and eventually upon a sturdy branch of a yoirul, balanced perfectly to observe over a wall.
Tain had no family that anyone knew of, but over the years he had mentored and groomed a few hopefuls as his successors. Only two seemed to weather the whims and waves of Enabran Tain’s good humor and fickle attention over the years.
The first was Elim Garak. Garak was an inconsistent figure in the Tain household by the time Julian arrived. While most of the well-established staff considered him more family than honored guest of the house, he rarely made an appearance, and when he did, it wasn’t for long.
The second was none other than Iliana Ghemor. Iliana was the daughter of a Legate, with impressive lineage and was marked for success from birth. However, anyone who had met her would agree she had a special something that seemed to promise fate had marked her for so much more. Enabran Tain seemed to recognize it too. As soon as she graduated from the Institute he swept her into the Tain household and she was a regular visitor since.
She was perfect. Not just because she was a great beauty, and she was, with soft gold eyes set above high cheekbones and a delicate chufa. She had a tinkling laugh and a way that set everyone at ease around her. She was witty and very smart and a little lonely, although no one seemed to notice that last part except for Julian.
Julian, who had spent the better part of his youth watching had noticed so much about Iliana Ghemor, he doubted anyone knew her better, although she hardly noticed him at all. He could still count on both hands the number of times she said anything to him.
The first time, when he was sixteen, she asked where the path to the rhosa garden led.
“To the rhosa garden,” he had said, smitten, and hadn’t had a chance to say another word to her for another eight months.
The second, third, and fourth times were matters related to how to obtain various pieces of recreation equipment. She was an avid and talented co’of ball player and enjoyed long hikes up the mountain.
The fifth time was on his eighteenth birthday. The staff had put together a small celebration for him, and even Enabran Tain had come down to the staff dining area to wish Julian a happy birthday. When Julian had left to retire to the hetusa, he’d run into Iliana, on her way to find Mister Reqot.
“Do you know where Mister Reqot is?” she had asked. “He’s not in the hangar.”
“Er, no. In the staff kitchen, I believe. We just finished…” he trailed off, not wanting to bore her with the details of why the staff had gathered today.
“Oh, it was your birthday, wasn’t it? Many more happy sunrises.”
Julian was too stunned to think that Iliana had remembered his birthday and belatedly called out a “thank you!” to her retreating back.
The sixth time he’d found Iliana tip-toeing around his hetusa during one of Tain’s dignitary gatherings. Julian had almost tripped over her, after leaving his spot in the tree where he was trying to spy on her watch the festivities.
“You startled me! Best forget what you saw here,” she giggled, not waiting for an answer before retreating around a corner and stumbling back to the party.
“Of course,” he said, not quite sure why it was so until he saw a glinn tugging on his trews after stepping out of a bush. He most certainly did not relay what he saw to anyone.
The seventh time, almost a full year later, she’d asked him if he’d seen Garak. Julian had not and said so, watching her storm off in the direction of the house, fuming.
The last time Iliana Ghemor had spoken to him was at his father’s funeral.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered, holding his arm for the briefest of moments. “I heard he was a good man.”